Fire And Ice (Book 1) (2 page)

Prologue

Fire From The Sky

              Stemis Sundarrion paced the distance between the long, heavy dining table and the stone lined hearth in the middle of the night.  The room was lighted by candles burning in sconces on the table and mantle.  His bare feet were wearing out a path in the blue carpet spread out over the polished stone floor.  He walked between blue cushioned chairs and a sofa of the same color as he stood vigil for what was happening on the other side of the closed wooden door to the bed chamber he shared with his wife. 

             
She was in there right now with the midwife, and Gelarus.  He wanted to be in there himself.  He felt like he should be in there.  The sounds of her yelling from the pains of giving birth permeated even the heavy oak of the door.  Perhaps the midwife was correct and it would be better if he remained out here.  His pace quickened.

             
He reached the hearth and turned around to complete another circuit when something caught his eye through the thin, golden curtains blocking the windows.  He thought he saw lights.  Pushing aside one of the curtains he looked out over the island city of Summerhall from his position on an upper floor of the palace.  The plethora of lights shining from windows and lantern-illuminated street corners below was not what made him look.  In the distant night sky, above the dark outlines of flowering trees lining the horizon, paths of fire streaked down from the heavens.  Hundreds of flaming objects fell against that ebony backdrop in a fiery rain to the left and right as far as the glass allowed him to turn his head and see. 

             
Stemis stared in wonder at the foreign sight, and with a little fear.  What portents could such an event indicate?  From what he knew, such a sight had only been seen once before, in the middle of winter two years ago.  It had also been at night then too.  He remembered being awakened from sleep by a frightened wife and dragged out to a balcony where he saw the falling fire far to the north.  It was much closer this time, and much more ominous.  The same questions and theories would be tossed about around dining tables and in taverns the same as last time.  Stemis feared that he might know the truth of it, and too many others might as well. 

             
Another long scream jolted him away from the window.  He watched the door anxiously as silence followed.  Then there was another cry, the sound of a child in its first moments of life.  A grin came to his face without his knowing it as he stood frozen, waiting.  Time crept by and his smile slowly faded as worry intruded upon his thoughts.  Worry for the welfare of the child and for his wife was foremost in his mind, of course, but another problem was there as well. 

             
Ever since the son of Soros was born every heir to the throne of Summer bore the mark of the sun.  It was a sign that this person was destined to rule the Alliance of Midia.  For a thousand years it had held true and he could not be the one to break it.  It was a point of distress for all who held the throne, because if the child did not come the Alliance would be shattered and civil war would be the result.  He was only twenty-three, but had been married for five years.  They had been trying and hoping for five years.  An heir should have come by now. 

             
The door opened and he took several steps towards it as the white haired and bearded Gelarus emerged with something bundled up in blankets in his robed arms.  Stemis peered into the coverings to look upon a baby’s pink skinned face.  The child’s eyes were opening and closing as they adjusted to the light of the world for the first time. 

             
“Is he all right?” Stemis asked putting a loving hand to the babe’s bald head.

             
“She is fine,” Gelarus stated confidently.

             
He looked up quickly and the grin returned.  “She? That is wonderful.”  Seeing the child he was having a little trouble thinking clearly.  “My wife?”

             
“The Queen is well.  She wishes to see you.” 

“And I her.”  Now the other worry.  “But the child?  Is she the one?”

              Gelarus carefully turned the baby over so that they could both see the back of her neck.  Just below the neckline was a small birthmark.  It was a circle with wavy lines issuing out from it no bigger than the tip of his finger.  It was the mark of the sun.

             
“The heir to Summerhall,” Gelarus announced, turning the child back.

             
Stemis reached out to take his daughter from the tall, bearded man.  In that moment everything was perfect.  His child was born healthy, his wife was well, and an heir had arrived at last. 

             
Giving up the baby, Gelarus glanced to the window and then went closer to look outside.  Moving aside the curtain he watched the fiery display unmoving.

             
Stemis went to stand next to him.  The child saw the lights falling from the sky and her little eyes opened wide and the fingers of one hand clenched.  “What do you think it means?”

             
The Wizard of Summerhall did not reply, but stared out the window in a thoughtful silence.

              Oran stepped out onto the narrow balcony at the Keep at Tyelin.  The ground rose in steep hills that bordered the small valley.  Far to the south he saw the glowing fire in the sky.  It was still cold here at the edge of the mountains so his breath steamed the night air.  This was the second time he had seen such a sight and was glad that it was not as close this time.  He still remembered the flaming stones as they fell to the snow covered ground around the Keep, steam rising from where they impacted.  A couple of houses had caught on fire too.  Luckily, the firestorm ended so that men could go outside and put out the blazes before they spread to a neighbor’s house.  They could have lost half the town otherwise.

             
“What is it?” A sweet sounding voice called from inside causing his heart to race and his mouth to quirk into a smile as it always did.  A moment later a brown haired woman with a flawless face appeared on the balcony and came to stand next to him.  She saw the sky as she pulled her robe about her tightly with both hands.  She glanced at his face and saw the worry that he felt.  “Do you think it means something?”

             
“I hope not,” he replied, and wished fervently that it was true. 

             
“Papa.”  A little boy in a white night shirt came out on the balcony, walking on unsteady legs.  Little Coran was only two years old and still learning to talk.  Oran scooped him up into his arms and Coran giggled.  “Papa!” he cried loudly, causing Oran to wince, and pointed at the red streaked sky.  “Fire!”

             
“Yes.  Fire,” Oran told his son.               

                       
Under a rain of fire shall they be born,

             
Pawns of fate in their destinies,

             
Bringers of hope in a time of despair.

             
One shall sit upon a throne of fire,

             
The other shall wield a sword of Ice.

             
Hearts as one,

             
Minds as one,

             
United against the Destruction.                                          

Soterides Gratus  1433 FF,

From the Third Prophecy, 

Also called the Prophecy of Fire and Ice

Chapter 1

Guests

             
The horse’s breath steamed the cold mountain air.  Its rider wore a thick, dark cloak to ward off the chill as he scanned the gray, overcast sky that darkened towards the west.  To the north and east the outline of white peaked mountains was obscured in the clouds.  The man raised his chin and sniffed, then sighed despairingly.  The breeze carried with it the spicy scent of pine and the clean, cold promise of snow.  Winter had yet to relinquish its grip on his home.  The tall young man with short dark hair turned his horse with a light tug on the reins back the way they had come
. 
The trail he followed was mostly clear of snow as it gradually descended from the ridge top.  The weather had grown increasingly warmer with the approach of spring until a cold wind had started in the night before.  There would be no leaving for him today.

             
The weather suited Coran’s mood perfectly, and it also made it wors
e
.
 
After finishing his training and studies, his father had sent him back to Tyelin to refamiliarize himself with their ancestral home.  It was not the same place he remembered from his childhood.  Then it had been warm, safe and loving with his parents who had a spirit that could not be broken.  Until his mother died, then it turned into a cold, empty building of stone.  That’s why, ten years before, his father had packed them up and left for Summerhall, where his best friend from youth, King Stemis, accepted him as his adviser.  That's where Coran had been treated as family.  Stemis was like an uncle and Queen Anne had mothered Coran outrageously.  Margery, who was almost the same age as him, was the sister he never had.  Then there was Katelyn.  He could never figure out exactly where she fit in the whole thing.  She was two years younger and as different from her sister as night is to day.  Where Margery was beauty and grace, Katelyn was skinny and awkward.  Margery inherited the golden hair of her mother while Katelyn’s was as dark as night.  Coran missed them most of all.  Where they were was home to him, and he had been gone for over a year.                The path left the trees and leveled off as he reached the dirt packed road and left his thoughts behind.  He followed it west until it met the turnoff to Tyelin. 

             
At the crossroad he saw about forty armed men in uniformed cloaks of dark green and yellow shirts over their armor.  They were evenly dispersed fore and aft of a white coach with gold trimmed shutters and door.  One of the windows was open, and an older woman with light brown hair was talking to one of the soldiers who had a red plume protruding from his rounded helm.  Soldiers eyed Coran warily from their saddles as he passed, yet made no move to bar his way.  He noticed three stars on the chest of one man and knew them to be guardsmen of Westland, the Kingdom to the west.  As he came alongside the coach Coran got a better look at the woman.  He recognized her despite the new wrinkles that hadn’t been there before, and the fact that he had only met her once when he was a boy.

             
“You there,” the guard with the plume called to him, breaking off Coran’s scrutiny.  “Are you from around here?”  He sounded unsure how to address him, and Coran realized his cloak hid his clothing.  With a slightly worn cloak and well-kept mount he could be taken for a well off man or a poor lord.      

             
“I am.  If you need any help you only have to ask.”  Coran’s polite response, yet lack of any deference confused the man even more.  The woman was watching him curiously, but didn’t speak.

             
“We are on our way to the river, but are unsure of the weather.”  The man pointed to the west where the darker clouds were approaching.  “We need to know if we should seek shelter.”

             
Coran nodded with understanding.  “It’s a good thing you asked.  You wouldn't have made it half way before the snow stopped you.  These spring storms can be severe.”  He turned to address the woman for the first time, giving a half bow from the saddle.  “I can only offer my humble accommodations, but I would be honored if you would stay with me, your Majesty.”

             
Queen Caroline of Westland appeared amused rather than surprised.  “And whose accommodations would I be accepting?”

             
“Forgive me,” Coran apologized.  He opened his cloak enough to reveal a silver hawk imprinted on his black shirt.  “You probably do not remember me, Coran Tyelin.”

             
“Coran!” she exclaimed.  “I didn’t recognize you.  You were only what, twelve when we met?”             

              “Yes.”  

             
“My, but you have grown,” she smiled, “even taller than your father.  I am surprised you even remember me.”

             
“How could I forget such a beautiful lady?”

             
She laughed with delight.  “You are just like your father was at that age, never at a loss when it came to flattery, and so full of life.”

             
“If you like I will guide your escort to Tyelin?”

             
“Of course.  We can talk more over something to eat and a warm fire.”  Her head disappeared inside and the shutters closed to keep out the wind.

             
“This way, my Lord.”  The now deferential Captain inclined his head.

             
Coran followed the officer to the front of the column.  There wasn't much chance to talk. Before they covered a mile it began to snow.  Soon after, the wind intensified and the snow began to pelt their faces.  Up and down the column men held cloaks tighter and pulled hoods low.  Visibility was limited to the rider in front of them.  All they could do was blindly follow.  Coran led the party between two ridges and down into the bowl shaped valley that cradled the town and keep of Tyelin.               

             
The black stone stronghold had been built long before Summerhall and Soros’ unification of Midia.  It had been an outpost of Mon Vusaar.  The last remnants of that culture were destroyed in the last Great War.  Tyelin was one of the few places to survive.  The silver hawk that once flew across the kingdoms of Holdon, Voltia and Taragon was now restricted to this one, last place in the world.  Over time its significance had deteriorated until now it was just a minor hold. 

             
Coran led the way through the deserted, storm-racked street, and past square brick houses with steep tile roofs, until they reached the heavy wooden gates of the castle.  The gates were quickly opened by black cloaked guards who lowered their heads against the wind and closed it again after the last horseman came through.

             
The wind still swirled in the courtyard and snow was piling up against the eastern wall.  The tops of the walls and the upper levels of the keep were lost in the raging storm.  Coran left his horse with a groom, a young man who braved the storm without a cloak or coat, then went inside ahead of the others to make arrangements for the Queen and her party.  Tyelin held many people at one time so there was plenty of room for all the guards accompanying her Majesty.  Inviting so many armed men inside the castle, men from another kingdom, was something he would normally never allow.  Despite the relative peace dominating the land it was still not prudent to take chances, but the royal house of Westland had been close to the ruling house of Summerhall for generations.  To say that they were allies was not enough.  

             
As Coran entered the narrow hall a man with more gray than brown in his hair greeted him.  “My Lord, we have visitors?”              

             
Coran eyed the man.  Kirsire’s thick build belied his keen mind.  Of course he would know instantly of strangers in the town, and would never admit that he knew, or how.  “A royal guest, so make sure that the dinner is a special one tonight.”

             
“Royal?” Kirsire asked with only a touch of surprise, feigned of course. 

             
“Yes.  Royal.  So see that they have proper accommodations,” Coran responded with a grin then hurried off to change.

             
About an hour later Coran waited in what had always been called the family room.  On one side was a heavy oak table surrounded by six straight backed chairs where he used to eat with his family.  Since his return he would usually eat in the main hall with others or alone in his chambers.  On the other side of the room a cushioned black couch and two chairs were arranged around a fireplace set into the stone wall.  On the mantle above the hearth sat a curled horn.  If it could be straightened out it would be a full pace in length.  It was harder than a ram’s horn and solid black, a Vusaari War Horn, a leftover of a time long past. 

             
A fire was already lit and heat radiated out from the flames to warm the entire room.  He watched, leaning against the stone mantle, as the conflagration crackled and danced until a knock announced the arrival of his guest.

             
Coran was surprised to see that the Queen was not alone.  A girl, perhaps a little younger than he, accompanied her.  The resemblance between the two was noticeable.  The girl’s hair was only slightly darker and her round face matched the older woman’s perfectly.

             
Caroline gestured to her companion, her hand decorated with ruby and emerald rings.  “My daughter, Willameina.” 

             
The girl gave him a quick curtsy.  “Please call me Willa, Sir Coran.  My friends do.”  She smiled revealing dimpled cheeks. 

             
He returned her curtsy with a perfect bow.  “I would like to call you friend, Willa, so please, it is just Coran.”  He indicated the blue padded chairs.  “Have a seat please.”  The Queen took one of the chairs, Willa sat on the couch.  “Something to drink?  I have some Taragosan Red or tea if you prefer.”

             
“Wine would be wonderful.”  Caroline sighed.  “It has been a long ride.  Those coaches are so uncomfortable you know.  I was bounced around like a sack of potatoes on some farmer’s wagon.”

             
While she went on about the inadequateness of traveling by carriage, Coran poured each of them a glass from the silver decanter on the table.  He handed one to each of the ladies before retrieving his own and taking the other chair.  She told him of her visit to Kluele, where she spent the winter with an old friend, and the decision to stop at Allard before returning home.

             
“Willa is not yet promised and it is a good idea for her to get out and meet people,” Caroline explained her daughter’s presence then paused and looked at him curiously over her wine glass.  “Tell me, are you as yet spoken for?”

             
Coran cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Not yet.  Have you heard any news from Summerhall lately?  We are somewhat isolated here, especially during the winter.”

             
“You have not heard?”  The Queen didn't seem to mind his change of subject.  “You know that my son has expressed an interest in Margery?”

             
“Yes.  I heard about that last fall,” he responded.  Because of Westland’s and Summerhall’s close relationship, Robert, Westland’s King, wished to make the relationship closer by marriage.  It was a rare occurrence since anyone who married the heir to the high throne had to renounce any other claims and become a member of house Sundarrion.  Somehow Robert had persuaded a promise from Stemis to accept his son as the principle suitor for one of his daughters.  “I did not know that he had made a decision as to which sister.”

             
“Katelyn is supposed to visit Westhaven sometime after her birthday, but my son seems to prefer Margery.”  She shrugged.  “We will see what happens.”  Caroline held out her glass and waited for him to refill it before continuing.  “That is not the worst of it.  Cranus thinks that if a prince of Westland can marry a Sundarrion then so can a prince of Voltia.  His son, Torvilin, has already announced his intention to marry Katelyn if my son chooses Margery.”

             
“He
announced
his intentions?”  Coran was shocked.  Surely that was going too far even for a Voltian.  “Stemis would never agree to that.  He would not do that to one of his daughters.”  Torvilin was well known for being as skilled with a sword as he was arrogant and cruel.  The popular rumors were that he liked to drop puppies in pots of boiling water just to hear their screams.  Popular, but not necessarily true.

             
“He may not have a choice,” she informed him bitterly.  “Torvilin heard that a man from Stockton was talking with Stemis about his son and Katelyn, I believe it was Lord Harthorn’s son.  He visited the would-be suitor, and challenged him.  At least he had the decency not to kill him, just run him through the leg.”  She shook her head in disgust.  “So you see the problem?  If there is no competition what can Stemis do?”

             
Coran could not do anything about another suitor, but he vowed to himself that he would not allow Katelyn to be wed against her will.  It seemed his decision to go back now was a timely one.